Marked :Version 1:
by Alexandrite Moonlight
Summary: [One Shot][Slash][Version 1] It hurt, not just the tearing burn of the magick that traces and curled lines upon my skin, but there was an emotional hurt that they could just stand there while they forced my hand, forced my choices, and marred my flesh. I


The halls are empty as I make my way to our place. I have no fear of discovery, anyway. I really couldn't careless if anyone found me. Even the teachers fear me now and I can't blame them. I would fear me too…

If I could feel anything at all at the moment.

I haven't felt anything since fifth year when the true darkness began… except when I am with you. 

Now, I feel. They are forcing me to feel and the pain is still fresh.

My hand reaches up to grip my arm. I swear I can feel heat from the mark I have been forced to bear, the pain I have been forced to feel.

It's still fresh, newly emblazoned on my flesh, taking away what choices that I had possessed, devouring what's left of my soul. All of me…

All of me but you…

They can't take you from me. Only you can do that, but you need me as much as I need you. We're together, eternally, unless you turn from me now that I have been branded. Now that you have proof of my weak personality. My pathetic inability to stop fate, to change my fate.

I'm so sorry.

The hallway is coming to an end, or so it seems, but as I continue on, the wall dissipates and I pass through it and into a secret corridor lined with seven doors, three on each side and one at the end. The one at the end is my destination, but the other doors are treasures in themselves, each one leading to other parts of the castle: one for each of the common rooms, the closet coming into the main entrance foyer, and the last one on the right leads straight to Dumbledore's office.

I found that out personally, and I have a feeling that that is the reason that that door is now locked. It took some explaining to excuse my sudden presence to the Headmaster. He simply sat there, behind the desk, smiling his indulgent smile like he always does. 

I wonder if he knows just how irritating it becomes after a while…

He didn't become as upset as I had expected. I suppose it was because it was me. Who wouldn't expect me to stalk the halls and stumble down the corridors? Since I came to Hogwarts I have made a habit of mentally mapping the hallways and discovering the secrets of this castle that is so much my home now.

Perhaps it is simply the Slytherin in me: 'Know your territory'.

Hogwarts is _my _territory.

I reach out, my hand coming in contact with the cool metal of the ancient handle. This part of the castle is old, the scents of time and dust are suffocating and comforting. There is a feeling of secrecy here, as though we two are the only ones to have tread on these stones in hundreds of years. I cannot help but think, as I pull open the door, listening to the creak of wood and metal, that the castle led us to this room on purpose… that it knew we needed this space…

It is more likely that it is simply a accidental and fortunate goof on my part that I was so lost in thoughts of you that I didn't see the wall in front of me until I was passing through it. 

Either way, we have _our _space now.

I step through the arched doorway, and as my feet press upon the stones, candles flicker to life, lighting the room in wavering lights before becoming still. I love the scent of the room, candles and dust and leather. It is my haven, our haven, and here all my cares seem to float away. Usually…

Not tonight though…

My hand grips my arm tightly, pressing my robes into my already tender flesh.

You're not here, yet. I've come to expect that. You have to maintain appearances with your peers, give them a sufficient amount of your time so that they don't suspect that you have changed. So that they don't suspect that when you toss off some excuse to leave, that you are coming to meet me.

What would they say if they knew?

We both have images to uphold. I just don't care anymore…

I only pretend for you. I have to protect you…

I step further into the room and collapse upon a worn leather chair, leaning back and propping my feet upon the coffee table in front of it. I like the colors of this room; dark wood and deep neutral shades. Grays and browns, greens and rich reds, all outlined with deep black. There is little metal, but what there is, is bronze, but most of the furniture is wood. Four leather chairs, a long, stretched couch, the coffee table, a bookshelf lined with tattered books of history and fiction and long outdated spells, and a few scattered end tables, absently surround a stone mantel fireplace. There are no pictures in the room, no adornments of house symbols, not even a Hogwarts plaque, but there is a window across from the door and it looks out over the Forbidden Forest. We both have tried finding it from the outside of the castle but it simply isn't there.

I love this room and this castle.

I remove my cloak and toss it over the arm of the chair before closing my eyes and letting the warmth from the fire that sparked to life a few moments ago seep into my body. 

I'm tired… just so tired…

I'm tired of this side and that side. Tired of good and evil. Tired of there only being two sides to everything. People are blind and stupid, but I am worse. I fall in line with their beliefs even when I know that there is more to every story than just two clear cut sides. I am weak and cowardly, and that is not how I am suppose to be. I was born into a lineage that does not back down, does not compromise their ideals and yet here I am, with a mark that I did not wish and a path I did not want.

And I am doing nothing to stop it…

The memories of a few hours ago encircle my mind, just as _they _had physically encircled me. Everyone wanted a view of me taking the Mark. I saw the faces of those I had known, had loved, and had trusted watching me with trepidation… and pride. It hurt, not just the tearing burn of the magick that traces and curled lines upon my skin, but there was an emotional hurt that they could just stand there while they forced my hand, forced my choices, and marred my flesh. I am to blame too I suppose.

I never told them to stop, never voiced that this wasn't what I wanted.

They saw nothing wrong in their actions, they saw me willingly take the Mark. They saw it as my choice, and I didn't contradict them.

Will you be ashamed of me?

I shift in the chair, the whine of leather shattering the silence of the room as I drape my legs over the arm of the chair with my cloak, my head resting on the other arm. I let the ceremony and the pain be confined to the dull throb in my arm as I think about us.

Will you be ashamed?

You have always been so understanding with everything; our past and our blunders, but I fear that this might be too difficult to overcome. 

I remember how we began. Oh, not our initial beginning, but how _we_ truly began. You found me in a deserted classroom just after the Farewell Feast, doing something I had sworn you would never see me do. I was crying…

I didn't look up as you asked who it was, like you didn't know, and I knew you by your voice. I sat there and waited for some comment to come slashing across the room. It was your moment to score, to cut me down, to exploit my weakness, but you didn't. I heard the door close and huddled further into myself, thinking you had gone until I felt you sit down beside me, felt your hand on my back.

You weren't suppose to offer me comfort… but I wasn't suppose to accept it either…

But I did…

I leaned back and into you, against your shoulder. In the morning I found myself wrapped around you on the cold floor, your arm still around me. It was my chance to leave, escape the awkwardness that was sure to follow, the thought of a memory charm even came to mind, but as I watched you sleep I couldn't do it. All of the years of bitterness and hatred wanted me to lash out at you, but I found another emotion buried beneath all the seething turmoil and it left me shaken.

I couldn't bring myself to erase your memory and I couldn't just leave you there, so I endured the awkwardness that I knew would happen. We blushed and babbled and finally let all Hell break loose as the insults we were so use to spewing came rushing out in a torrent that made no sense. You left first, slamming the door as you went and when you were gone I smiled because I knew next year things would be different.

They weren't at first. Gods, that would have been _too _easy. We fought and cursed and insulted, but I think that we both knew that it wouldn't last and we put all the more vehemence into our rivalry because of it. I ended up in the hospital wing with two heads and scales, with you in the bed next to mine with bright pink fur and breasts. It was a brilliant job, I must say, but what is really ironic is actual person who inadvertently brought us together.

Snape would probably die if he knew that it was because of the hours and cooperation we had to put into the term project that he paired us together for, that we became what we are now: friends and lovers. We're still rivals, still enemies in the major sense. We belong to two different sides and neither of us talks of our dealings and plans. It doesn't seem like our relationship would work. How can two drastically different people, with priorities tied to two conflicting sides ever manage a relationship?

Easy… we're not sane…

That is the only explanation I can come up with. It makes the most sense. Only mentally insane people could ever survive the trials and problems, conflicts and arguments that we have. Only people without any surviving sanity could live in the lies and deceit that we weave around us.

I hear the door creak open and footsteps treading softly. The door closes and I catch your scent on the air; cinnamon and vanilla. My mark begins to burn as you approach and I begin to fear what you will say.

You're footsteps stop close to the chair and I hear the rustle of your cloak as you remove it and toss it on some unknown chair. Then your scent becomes stronger and I can feel your breath against my lips.

"Faker…", you're voice whispers in seductive tones, and I can hear your smile as I answer with my own.

"Only around you…"

"Now you're a liar."

Your breath make me shiver and it takes all of my control not to move up and press my lips against yours, ending my sweet torture.

"I learned from the best."

Now I know you're smiling. I can practically hear your lips move, feel the air stir… they are so close to mine.

"True.."

I want to open my eyes, but I know this game and opening my eyes is against the rules. It is a battle of willpower; sweet and innocent, but with us it can become heated.

I can feel stray wisps of your hair caress my face in their own dance of seduction.

Moments pass by, breath mingles with breath, teasing and taunting against our faces. The sweetness is mounting and the innocent is not so slowly becoming a driving need. I need to… I want to…

I have to…

Then your lips touch mine. You gave in this time, but only moments before I was going to. We have gone on for hours before, but tonight I feel a sense of need and urgency and in the crush of your lips I know you feel the same.

My tongue darts out, tracing over your lips, catching the lingering taste of honey and butter from the biscuit you always save as the finishing course of your meal. There is wine mixed in and something begins to darken in my thoughts. You never drink unless something has made you nervous or we are celebrating together… and I am certainly not drunk or celebrating. 

Your hands frame my face, lingering as your teeth nip at my bottom lip before you move away and break the kiss. I open my eyes and stare at you, as I always do when I see you. You are an Adonis of perfection and beauty and every curve and angle leaves me shaken and haunted.

I move and you take your usual place in the chair between my legs, your back resting against my chest as mine did that day you comforted me. Your scent surrounds me, and your warmth, but there is something weighting down on you. I can feel it in your muscles, in the way your head is turned away from mine tonight and I wonder if you already know.

If you sense that tonight could be our last…

My fingers toy with your hair as we stare into the fire together, soaking in this moment and remembering all the others we have had. Tonight I pray silently that whatever Gods are watching us, whatever beings shape our fate, that they grant us mercy and don't let this night be our last. Closing my eyes I place a kiss against your neck and feel you shudder as my hands run down your arms.

The foreboding feeling increases and I take a deep breath.

"We have to talk…"

It is the best that I can do at this point to keep from choking on my own fears.

"I know," you answer and I hear the sound of pain in your voice as you stand up and sit across from me on the top of the coffee table.

You're eyes burn into mine and with the firelight behind you, I swear you are some elemental creature of magick. Something beautiful and ethereal that I don't deserve…

Sitting up I lean forward, breaking our eye contact as shame washes over me. I open my mouth to speak, to explain and apologize, but nothing comes. I look back at you, back into the eyes that I have seen burn with hatred and passion, soften with pain and love, and I know that I cannot voice what I have done so I stretch my arm out and pull back the sleeve of my shirt. I watch as your eyes take in my arm, widening in comprehension and sadness, and I turn away.

I don't need to look at it to know what it is, I watched as every line washed over my skin. I can feel every line on my arm. The emblazoned image of a phoenix never looked more horrendous than the one whose red and gold flames and outstretched wings spread out over my arm, the words _Order of the Phoenix _curling in sinister beauty beneath its deadly talons. It would sparkle and shimmer in the light, but its fake charms held no joy for me.

It was my mark of damnation…

I couldn't stand the cowardice that swept through me and I looked up to meet your eyes, but they were still on the mark, tears wavering unshed in your eyes. 

I had let you down…

"Oh, Harry…"

The pity in your voice hurt and I waited for your rejection and anger, but it didn't come.

Your eyes turned to me and there was pain in them as you held out your own arm, mirroring my gesture, as you rolled up the sleeve of your sweater. 

Lines of pure, stark black, spread out over your beautiful pale skin, marring with its sinuous curves, the perfection that I had known. The skull stared at me with hollow eyes, laughing at our misfortune and misery, as the snake that curled through it, glared at me, taunting me as if it knew that it was claiming possession over the one thing that I valued most in this world.

"Drake…" I whispered as I reached out to touch the lines that spread over my lover.

"Don't!" you yell and pull your arm back.

I looked up at you and realization hit me like a bludger to my head as you stare in uncertainty at the fiery visage on my own arm: that area of our bodies was off limits to the other. If I touched yours, Voldemort would know, and with the Mark on your body now, you could not touch mine without alerting the Order. 

"They win… and we let them…" 

You say it as one already defeated, with eyes downcast.

Anger surged through me and I shoot up from my chair, startling you as I make my way toward the book shelf and take down a tome on ancient medicine. As I open it and sort through the pages inside, something I had been missing since my fifth year broke through the darkness that had descended over me.

They are not going to win!

Voldemort. The Order. They are no different than each other, each side fighting for their ideals, _their _hopes, and both trampling over those that stood in their way. The code and beliefs I came to accept, that I had joined the Order for, were being brushed away as though they were dust. The Order was on the verge of become what it was created to prevent and this!

I look at the glittering and altered version of the Dark Mark that shone on my skin and then at my marked lover.

This… was the last straw.

I will not be trampled over and my ideals, my hopes, and my lover will not be swept away!

They wanted me to be savior to the fucking world… well, they were going to get a fucking Savior!

As my fingers find the page, I read quickly over the inscription, letting the Latin words roll over in my mind.

This was just one more problem that we had to overcome.

Placing the book back onto the shelf I make my way back to you.

"They are _not_ going to win."

I smile and reach out, pulling your face toward mine until our lips meet. You relaxed against the caress after a few moments and I pull away.

"We'll simply have to find our way around the marks until we win the war and the marks become nothing more that a reminder and we will win."

You raise an eyebrow questioningly, looking at me as though I am mad… and perhaps I am.

"I refuse to lose you…"

I swear I see hope kindle in your eyes and I take your hand in mine, stretching out the mark on your skin. The tip of my wand hovers over the hideous image and I trace a path around the black lines, making sure that the image is locked within the path of my wand, as the words seep from my lips. 

A thin shimmering veil forms over the mark, conforming to your arm and I reach out, pressing my finger to its cruel lines quickly, before you can stop me.

Nothing…

I grin up at you, "See? It just takes a little precaution…"

"Smart ass…" You grin before kissing me hard, "Don't you ever scare me like that again!"

"You know I wont promise that." I answer your grin.

"Sadist…" you murmure.

"Only with you."

"You should have been in Slytherin."

"Mmm," I murmure against your mouth. "I almost was."

"Pity…" you grin wickedly, "We could have started this so much sooner."

"It just means that we have that much catching up to do…"

We share a secret smile, bordering between contentment and lust. It was more than just a statement and you knew it. It was a promise, one that I intend to see fulfilled.

I instruct you and in no time at all, a thin veil of magick coats my mark. You press his fingers to it and smile.

I sink back into the chair, knowing you will follow into my arms.

We are weak apart, easily controlled and guided, but together we could survive anything.

As you turn in my arms, lips pressing against my neck, fingers toying with the buttons of my shirt, I realize something. 

Yes, perhaps, insanity was part of the reason we survived as well as we did, but it isn't the whole of it. We survive because we are marked… not the lightning scar of legend or the hideous brands that had been forced on us, but by something more.

My arms encircle you and I smile into your eyes, the silver depths that have become my world.

Perhaps we are marked by love…

When your lips met mine and the world melts away I know that it is true.

They could paint on our flesh whatever they chose, but the mark that really mattered was one that only we could see…

And I saw it in your eyes… 

We were Marked by Love…


End file.
